Christmas Traditions

Giving Gifts

& eating monkey bread

I’ve never been much of a gift guy. You know the whole “love languages” thing? Well, one of them is gift-giving, and let me tell you, that one is dead last for me. I could go through Christmas with zero presents and be just fine. My wife is pretty similar in that regard, which makes things easy between us. But then, of course, you have kids, and kids? They are all about the gifts. And what’s interesting is that my son, who is one of the most thoughtful, introspective kids I know, absolutely loves giving and receiving gifts. I wouldn’t have pictured him that way, but here we are.

Because our family is so spread out—we’re here in Pasco County, FL, my sister is in Africa, my mom’s in St. Louis, my other sister’s in Chicago, and my brother’s in Tennessee—we don’t really get together for Christmas anymore. That means we’ve had to start our own traditions. And for us, Christmas Eve means Bonefish Grill. Every year, we take Grandma out for a nice dinner at Bonefish, and it has become our thing. After that, we’ll go to a Christmas Eve service , come home, and let the kids open one gift. I don’t think there’s anything magical about that—lots of families probably do the same thing—but it’s our little tradition, and the kids look forward to it.

Christmas morning in our house is not chaos. We do gifts one at a time. I grew up thinking that’s how everyone did it—one person opens, everyone watches, then the next person goes. Turns out, a lot of people just dive in, and within five minutes, it’s over. That seems a little anticlimactic to me, so we draw it out. I mean, the whole gift-opening process takes several hours. We start with our own gifts at home, drink coffee, let the kids tear into their presents, and then we all get ready and head over to Grandma’s house for the family gift exchange.

One of my absolute favorite parts of Christmas morning is the monkey bread. Oh, man. If you’ve never had monkey bread, you are missing out. It’s this gooey, sticky, sugary pull-apart bread, and I admit I eat half of it every year. If we actually measured out who ate what, I’d be embarrassed. But it’s Christmas, right? Calories don’t count on Christmas.

As for Christmas dinner, we’re not really a turkey family. It’s usually ham with all the classic sides—corn pudding, stuffing, sweet potato casserole with enough sugar to put you in a coma, all of it. And yes, the sweet potato casserole is my absolute favorite.

Now, one of the challenges as the kids get older is buying gifts. Back when my wife had her blog, we didn’t pay for Christmas for years. Brands would send her products to review, and we would just wrap those up for the kids. Some of them were weird, and the kids would open them like, “Uh, what is this?” But most of the time, they loved it. The problem was, they got used to getting a ton of gifts. I remember telling my wife, “Hey, I don’t think one kid getting 25 or 30 presents is setting a great precedent.” So over the years, we’ve tried to dial it back a little.

My wife, though, is so generous. She loves picking out gifts and seeing the kids’ faces light up. And me? Well, the running joke in our house is that I’m just as surprised as the kids when they open their presents. “Oh wow, look what you got!” Because I don’t really partake in the gift-buying process. Maybe I should share more of that mental load with her, but honestly, I think she enjoys it. So, I let her do her thing, and I play my role—enthusiastic, clueless dad who enjoys the show.

And in the end, that’s what makes Christmas special. It’s not about the gifts—it never has been for me. It’s about those little traditions, the time together developing our relationships, and, of course, eating way too much monkey bread.

Be well,

Jeffrey Charles Ford